


What is Proper

by bluemermaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:23:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3131063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemermaid/pseuds/bluemermaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he first met her, she was the very image of a proper Pureblood young lady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is Proper

When he first met her, she was the very image of a proper Pureblood young lady. Astoria lowered her eyes when they met, offered her hand shyly to Draco and blushed when he kissed it. She spoke little, complimenting the cut of his robes before sitting quietly on the settee while their mothers talked. Narcissa thought very highly of the Greengrass family, who had managed to avoid the dark stain of war by not associating themselves with either side of the battle. And Astoria's mother still took pride in the idea of marrying into the Malfoys, the richest of the Purebloods, even after the war had rocked their foundation.

Enough time had passed for the dust to settle and for life to go on, with polite afternoon tea sessions between influential women, matching up their children like setting tables for a party. Draco had known Astoria only vaguely at school and had seen her seldom, and now he was reclining across the sitting room from her while their families planned their wedding. He wasn't bothered by this, however; it was the way things were done. And Astoria was an attractive young woman, and a Pureblood who seemed to know her place. It would be good to have that standing beside him, a sweetly obedient wife, to build back his reputation as a man, as a Pureblood with his heart and his head in the right places.

She was the image of perfection, sitting primly with her hands folded in her lap, and with her deep blue eyes only darting to Draco's form occasionally, secretly, and withdrawn the moment he would notice them. Draco felt himself flushed with a combination of pride and affection, that she could be so attracted to him in such a quiet, subservient manner. He quite liked that.

And so it startled him, indeed, the first time they were left alone together, in the garden behind Malfoy Manor whilst Narcissa laid out wedding plans indoors. She, of course, trusted the both of them to behave themselves, and not get up to anything deviant: they were both sweet young Purebloods, after all, and had long been schooled in the ways of courtship in arranged marriages.

But Astoria wasn't nearly as sweet as she'd seemed inside the Manor; she sat too close and she slipped her hands into Draco's lap, massaging his groin and sending a rush of blood to his prick. Startled, confused, and aroused, Draco somehow managed to stutter out something about propriety and standards.

"Fuck society and its standards," Astoria replied in a hissing whisper, just before she began suckling on Draco's neck. "Let them think we're proper, but why should we wait? We're to be married, and I like to try things on before I purchase them." She kissed his lips, drawing out his inner fire, stoking it with her body pressed flush against his, her clever fingers prying at his robes.

As much as he'd liked the image of a prim and sweet Astoria, somehow he enjoyed the dominant truth of her passion even more. They didn't quite fuck with abandon in his family's gardens that afternoon, but they did come awfully close.

In the end, Draco needed a wife who could be sweet in public but fierce behind closed doors. It calmed him to be out in public with her carefully controlled image by his side, to present the ideal that had been pressured into the both of them since they had been born. It helped him to feel secure and confident amongst his peers, that he was all right, that he had climbed back onto the mountain after his torture at the hands of the Darkness and survived with nary a scratch. And once they were plunged into their own secret world of privacy, it relieved him that she let her dreams flow, that she could be wild and free and wicked; it made him feel like it was okay to be something other than what was expected of him.

Astoria loved him despite his flaws, despite the fear nursed in the pit of his stomach at every trouble, despite the urges which woke him in the middle of the night with itches that had no name. She loved him because of those things, because she had them too. And he loved her for all of that, for her passion and her image and her understanding. She was so far from the image of a proper Pureblood young lady; she was complicated, and she was defiant. And he loved her for it.


End file.
